Alys Clare: The Paths of the Air

John shrugged. ‘I have eluded Thibault this far. I am now very near to the point when I shall give the formula into the dependable hands I envisaged back in Outremer. Then it will be safe at last and I can rest.’ He closed his eyes.

Questions threw themselves around Josse’s head but most of them could wait. Very quietly he said ‘John?’ and when the young man grunted a response, he said, ‘They must not be allowed to have this frightful weapon, must they? If it is as terrible as you make out, it must be kept from the Saracens and the Hospitallers.’

‘It is terrible,’ John said, his eyes still closed. ‘Warfare out in Outremer is a constant, brutal, savage and cruel waste of human life. If this black powder were to be added to the weaponry of either side, I believe that the entire Holy Land would be blown to pieces.’

‘In which case it must be kept from them,’ Josse said, half to himself. Then: ‘John, wherever these dependable hands that you spoke of are located, I will help you take your secret to them. I give you my word.’

It seemed to him that John Damianos smiled faintly. Then shortly afterwards a soft snore emerged from his slightly parted lips.

It was dark when Josse woke up and at first he did not know what had awakened him. He heard a quiet voice say in his ear, ‘Do you want to see it in operation?’

Then he knew where he was, who was talking to him and what the words meant. With a nod he got out of bed and, throwing his cloak over his linen shift, picked up his boots. ‘There’s a small door just along here,’ John whispered. ‘I’ve already checked and it’s possible to unlock it.’

They slipped out between the curtains. The nun on night duty was dozing in her chair and did not wake up. They crept past another curtained-off area and then Josse saw the little door. John was already working on it and very soon it stood open. John hurried out, Josse behind him, and they paused to put on their boots. John’s satchel hung at his side beneath his cloak.

The sky was still partly cloud-covered but the moon was waxing towards the full and gave adequate light. John, Josse noticed, had a pitch torch in his hand. They walked quickly over to the high wall and John went unerringly to one of Sister Tiphaine’s fruit trees where it was possible to shin up and climb over to the world outside. Josse wondered as he jumped rather painfully down the other side how they would get back in again. He asked John, who replied, ‘There’s a place I know. Trust me, Josse.’

They made their way south, where the open ground soon broke up into hillocks and shallow valleys. They came to a little dell, separated from the Abbey by a narrow ridge crowned by a trio of birch trees. John ran down into it and opened his satchel. He found a piece of flattish stone and, concentrating hard, took out three small, lidded earthenware containers. Using a little wooden spoon, he measured three separate piles of the contents: one was black; one was silvery-white; the third was bright yellow. He mixed the three together until their separate identities had disappeared and they formed a fine black powder. Then, moving away from the stone and turning his back, he struck a flint and lit the pitch torch. He said to Josse, ‘Stand back.’ Then he put the flame of the torch into the black powder.

There was a brilliant flash, a loud bang and a sudden acrid-smelling cloud of smoke.

‘Dear God!’ Josse breathed. ‘You have harnessed the devil, John!’

John grinned. ‘No I haven’t. This is an entirely human discovery. Hisham is an alchemist and he deals with other men like him. Someone must have discovered this formula when investigating the possibilities of three separate substances.’

‘It’s similar to what they call Greek fire, is it not?’

‘No, it’s nothing like it,’ John replied. ‘Greek fire is a mix of tar, brimstone, resin, oil and quicklime. It burns fiercely and if you throw water on it you simply make it burn all the harder. They shoot it out of tubes fixed to the bows of ships, or else put it in pots which they hurl on the ballista. It’s a fire that doesn’t go out, Josse, and it has been known of for a long time. This black powder — ’ he indicated the stone, whose surface was bare and now bore a large dark stain — ‘is unique because it has a secret force in it.’

‘A force?’

‘Yes. Watch.’

John delved in his satchel again, this time coming up with a brass tube about the length of his hand and as wide as his two thumbs. Carefully he mixed more of the black powder, crouching over his task so that Josse could not see what he was doing.

He straightened up and turned to Josse. ‘It isn’t that I don’t trust you, Josse,’ he said apologetically. ‘But this part I worked out for myself from references in Hisham’s long description and, if you don’t mind, I won’t reveal what I’ve discovered, even to you.’

Touched by that even to you, as if he had become someone special in John Damianos’s fugitive life, Josse said, ‘Aye, I understand. And I don’t mind.’

John nodded. Then he took a breath and squared his shoulders. With a nervous grin, he said, ‘This is how I burned myself. I tried to do this with a wooden tube and it blew up.’

‘You mustn’t-’

But Josse never finished his protest.

John had somehow touched the torch flame to the black powder inside the brass tube, for there was another loud bang and a bright gout of fiery smoke flew out of the end with the speed and the brilliance of a shooting star.

Josse stood, amazed.

‘And look what else it can do,’ John said eagerly. Once more crouching down so that Josse could not see, after a moment he held up the tube again and this time as the powder inside exploded, something small and hard shot out of the end of the tube. Josse heard a thump as it embedded itself into one of the trees.

‘What was that?’

‘Just a stone. Want to see it again?’ John was smiling broadly now and Josse found that he was too.

‘Aye!’

‘It’s nowhere near accurate,’ John said as he mixed his powder, ‘and in these small amounts the propulsive force isn’t very great, but just think of the potential.’

‘I prefer not to,’ Josse said gravely. Watching these experiments was all very well but already he understood why John had to protect this incredible secret. And why Hisham should have sent his warriors so far to get it back.

John had prepared his tube again and was on the point of putting the flame to it. Then a dark figure appeared from between the birch trees. He carried a sword and a knife and he was advancing down the slope into the dell. He said, ‘You should not have made yourself so visible, Brother Ralf. Your loud sounds and flashing lights have drawn me to you like a moth to a candle.’

Josse was not wearing his sword. He was armed with nothing more lethal than his knife. He stood at John’s left shoulder, just behind him.

‘You have your knight with you, I see,’ said the man. ‘No matter. I recognize him and I shall kill him too, for he murdered my companion Tancred.’

‘Your Tancred would have killed me!’ Josse protested, adrenaline making his voice loud and fierce. ‘It is not murder when a man kills in self-defence.’

‘No, indeed, but Tancred is dead all the same.’ The man was close now. It could only be a matter of moments before he was within sword’s length.

‘Go back, William,’ John said. He sounded surprisingly calm. ‘You are here only because Leo Rubenid pays you to do his foul deeds. Paradisa would suffer an unspeakable fate were she to be returned to him, as you very well know. Can you not find pity in your heart for her and let us be?’

William shrugged. ‘I do as I am commanded,’ he said coldly. ‘If people suffer, it is not my concern.’